


Like Lightning

by audreyfaun



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: (for the most part), Canon Universe, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Stripper!AU, Stripper!Brian, Strippers & Strip Clubs, singer!brian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18873355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyfaun/pseuds/audreyfaun
Summary: The dancer toyed with the cord of the mic and at a heavy beat in the music, dropped down onto splayed knees. The kid easily rolled himself back upwards, hips jutting forward and spine arching smoothly. Holy shit. This is how I die. Pat thought resignedly.In other words, a fic where Brian briefly worked as an exotic dancer before getting hired at Polygon and Pat struggling to realize he's met this kid before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was bummed out by the lack of patbrian content until I realized I could just make that content. The photos of Brian in different musicals + him dancing in general made me think about a stripper/performer au. This isn't supposed to be super heavy, I just thought that this could happen during Brian's period of "waiting to become destitute" because he couldn't find a job in the big city. I plan on continuing to another chapter at the very least to detail Pat and Brian becoming close friends at Polygon and maybe even spark a realization in Pat since he so conveniently didn't get a clear picture of who the dancer was ;) 
> 
> The costume idea is from this https://images.app.goo.gl/bxHpemaoxMSUr6DU9
> 
> The song brian sings is supposed to be Carmen by Lana Del Rey (which is where the title comes from) because I wanted to go for that boudoir pin up sort of aesthetic and vibe. I might make a playlist for this fic if yall are interested. 
> 
> My tumblr is @itsachaliceforyourthoughts  
> Anyways I hope you all enjoy, let me know if you liked it and if you have any suggestions in the comments!

“Great, time to get hammered enough to forget about this,” Pat muttered half-jokingly to his friend. He and a cluster of old college friends stood in front of the dimly lit entrance to the club. Just a few hours earlier, one of his closer friends from Maine was begging him to come.

 

“Please? I know it’s not your scene but it’s my birthdaayy,” he whined overdramatically, dragging out the last vowel. Pat hummed unenthusiastically, not replying as he tapped away at something on his laptop for work. It was the weekend, and Pat didn’t truly have any pressing projects. That didn’t stop him from pretending though.

Jake huffed and quickly shifted his approach, leaning up against the couch in Pat’s apartment, “You won’t even have to drive us, someone else volunteered for tonight. I’ll pay for all your liquor if you come along! It’s not every day I get to celebrate in a new night scene.”

 

The promise of free booze and a little bit of guilting from Jake is how Pat found himself standing in front of some strip club. At least it looked like a fairly nice one, nothing too dodgy- at least, that’s what his first impression was as he squinted at the neon sign. Pat cursed himself for giving in to not only this plan, but to leaving his glasses at home as well.

 

His friend had grinned mischievously as he slid them off of Pat’s face, “You should show off those sharp angles and hard edges, you might want to impress someone there.” Pat had grumbled good-naturedly before going to change into something nicer.

 

As the group entered, Pat was struck by the overwhelming blend of crowd’s voices and heavy bassed music. The lighting was even hazier than the shadowy night outside, shifting from blue to magenta hues. Pat made a beeline to the bar with a couple other friends to get something to drink.

Pat did enjoy pleasantly chatting with old friends, but soon they started drifting off to partake in some of the entertainment. He felt a bit self-conscious once he was alone, sitting by himself at the bar. His friend was right about this not being his scene, and he couldn’t help but feel a jab from his increasing self-consciousness over his age as he was surrounded by young, spontaneous, outgoing people. He scratched at his jawline in discomfort as he idly scanned the club to take in some of the activity before realizing that this club was co-ed. As in there were also guy strippers.

As his gaze drifted around in slight bewilderment, he locked eyes with the birthday boy, who had been watching from afar with shit-eating grin on. Pat couldn’t find it in himself, tipsy and slowly accepting the situation, to be mad when the fool winked at him and turned away happily to watch a performer.

Upon further assessment, Pat saw there were small circular stages scattered throughout the crowd where dancers were doing short performances. The closest one to him was just a few feet from where he was sitting. He took a swig of the beer in his grasp and sidled over to watch a bit closer. _It’s just curiosity,_ he reasoned to himself as the liquid left a bitter taste on his tongue, _Might as well enjoy the experience_.

Pat couldn’t help but to feel absolutely drawn in as his blurry gaze landed on the performer on stage. He was still pretty far from the circular pedestal, separated by crowds of other admirers, but he could tell that the guy on stage was gorgeous. He was a bit struck by the soft lines of the man’s face, he looked a bit young and innocent to be working at a place like this; but then again, that was a clever source of appeal that worked even on Pat. The man was lithe, his thin form draped seductively over a chair. Even from afar, Pat could make out what the dancer was wearing as the man turned to swing a leg over to straddle the chair backwards.

Pat’s throat bobbed as he swallowed in surprise, the light-haired man was adorned in a school uniform: sheer stockings, a plaid green skirt, a tightly-fitting white button down and glasses. The dancer swayed playfully to the music blaring, reaching to undo the tie knotted around his neck and smiling shyly at the cheering patrons below, God the little quirk of that pink mouth was tempting. His nimble hands ruffled at his own long curls. Pat felt the pressing urge to busy himself with another sip of beer as the kid stood bent over the chair, fingers skimming the hem of his skirt to reveal the lacy garters holding his stockings up. The man moved around, dancing a bit before he cocked one of his finely-boned legs upwards and he undid the buttons on his shirt. The red scrunchy around his wrist got in the way of taking off the shirt completely, so the dancer seemed to think a suitable solution was to slip it off and toss it off into the crowd. The velvety hair tie flew towards Pat, bouncing off of his chest and into his clumsily grasping hands. 

Pat stared dumbly at the scrap of fabric laying in his palm. When he glanced back up he saw that the dancer was de-uniformed and propped up obscenely to show off what was under. The dancer's milky torso was exposed, with an unfairly tight pair of dark red panties hugging his hips. The man did a complex move with the chair, twirling it around in one hand before straddling it backwards and just slightly grinding against the wooden back as he moved his hips. A few whoops sparked from the crowd, and the dancer tossed them an exaggerated look, the kind that says "oops, you caught me being bad", the kind that had his lips drawn in a coy, open mouthed grin and his eyes lowered. The newfound intensity with which Pat had been watching - _oh god_ _there's a tiny bow right above- lord help me the way he moves-_ startled him into another hot wave of embarrassment and he downed the rest of his drink.

 _There's nothing to be ashamed of. Completely natural._  Pat had long toiled and agonized over coming to terms with his sexuality, something he was forced to confront sooner or later, but echoes of tamped down feelings of wrongness-of sin he supposed- with no real rational source would spring upon him in times of desire. Apparently being an ex-catholic makes you a life-long member of the Sexual Shame Club. The whole moral dilemma of feeling this way towards a stripper didn't help. 

The music started to fade out as Pat shook himself from his fit of embarrassment and looked at the scrunchy again. He distantly registered a club employee announcing, “If you liked the show that hot little thing put on, be sure to catch Songbird’s main performance in 20 minutes!”

As the crowd began to disperse, Pat went to the bar to get another drink and headed over to the main stage to make sure he got a better view this time. As the alcohol settled low and warm in his stomach, he found his reservations about this night slipping. He was losing determination to keep pretending to hate what was happening, because how could he resist a full performance from the dirty blonde he saw earlier. That still didn’t stop him from trying not to look too eager in case his friends caught him enjoying the night they dragged him out for.

The last self-conscious piece of him held on to the idea that he was only getting a close spot to return the scrunchy. _It’s only polite,_ he convinced himself, _just basic manners to return it,_ which Pat was sure the dancer didn’t receive a lot of in this line of work. The crowd began to grow more as time passed, and Pat found himself thumbing absentmindedly at the fabric of the scrunchy. The people pressing in on all sides of him, sweaty and buzzing with excitement, forced him briefly into reflecting on the situation. _This is so stupid,_ he mentally mocked himself, _of course you would get smitten with someone absolutely unattainable._

In reality, Pat knew he would never see the guy again and while he was definitely pretty, Pat was too old and tired of heartbreak to get hung up on that sort of stuff. His whiskey and beer addled mind settled on focusing on purely aesthetic enjoyment- it was just more realistic than any dreams of romancing this kid. Pat’s internal conflict abruptly dissolved as the music for “Songbird’s” routine began.

Pat was a bit taken aback by the instruments in the opening notes, slow and sultry but not in a modern way. He was reminded a bit of croon-voiced showgirls from the jazz age and cabaret performers. Pat didn’t have any mental capacity left to think about any historical references because Songbird had stepped out onto stage. _This is definitely going for a vintage aesthetic,_ Pat faintly thought to himself as he drank in the pretty figure before him. Songbird’s graceful form was draped in a barely translucent white dressing gown, the folds of fabric drifting around his limbs like water. The draping sleeves were feathered, contrasting with the simple silk of the short white gloves encasing his hands. Pat felt his eyes drawn to the thin circles of Songbird’s wrists as he delicately reached over to -Pat didn’t register it earlier- a microphone perched atop a tall silver stand.

Songbird grasped the stand in the other, apparently waiting for something in the music as he stood still, flickering his downcast eyes from the ground to a few of the patrons and fixing them with a delicious look, including Pat. _The nerve of this kid_ , Pat thought. He smirked a bit mischieviously, emboldened by the performer’s attention and the alcohol, he reached up and tugged his hair into a loose ponytail with the red scrunchy. When Songbird looked back, Pat tried to gesture in a way he hoped that conveyed _Looking for this?_ The performer’s eyes filled with mirth and bit his lip in an expression that seemed to say- unless Pat’s lack of glasses and sobriety were playing tricks on him- _You can return it later_ . Pat took in a shuddering breath as he tried to focus his eyesight on the man’s face as he turned away slightly. Unlike some of the other performers, he didn’t have a ton of makeup on. Darkly smudged eyeliner and fluttering mascara-covered lashes made his doe-like eyes stand out. _Green._ His cheeks were slightly flushed and thin-lips barely rouged, almost bitten red. _Dear lord,_ Pat mentally blasphemed as Songbird heard his cue and began to sing.

Pat dimly remembers hearing this song play before, but it sounded different when Songbird performed it. The man’s voice was bright and clear, truly like a songbird. There was a soft edged feeling to it was well, it’s gentle breathiness maintained the song’s original sexy, croony vibe. The performer slowly strutted around the stand, dipping down every now and then in slightly provocative moves as he sang, fingers curled around the thin pole. Songbird removed the mic from the stand and expanded his performing space to the rest of the stage as he toyed with the cord of the mic and at a heavy beat in the music, dropped down onto splayed knees. The kid easily rolled himself back upwards, hips jutting forward and spine arching smoothly. _Holy shit. This is how I die._ Pat thought resignedly as his heart rate quickened.

Pat felt entranced by Songbird’s voice and was only then hit by the surprising move that he was at a strip club, so he fumbled for some of the cash he brought and added it to the growing piles on the edge of the stage, feeling some guilt at remembering that this was how the performer put food on the table. Songbird smiled appreciatively at the adoring crowd and slowly made his way back to the stand and tugging off the gloves with pearly teeth during a break in the music. The singer seemed to brace himself for an especially strong verse, face wrought with passion as he hit the high notes, effectively killing Pat.

With that, he released the mic stand and stepped back during another break in the music, slipping the robe off of his shoulders demurely. His body rolled as the robe slowly dipped further down, eventually fully dropping to reveal his ensemble underneath: a tightly fitting outfit constructed out of sinews of lace and ribbon, prettily adorning Songbird’s creamy skin. Pat felt a bit light-headed. The dancer seemed to be headed towards the pole in the center of the stage, about to finish the routine with some more intense moves- until Pat’s line of sight was jerked away by a hand at his upper arm.

“Hey there you are! We’re thinking about heading out, I’m desperately starving and I need some New York pizza.” It was his friend who had disappeared into the crowd earlier. Pat was quickly shaken out of Songbird’s hypnotic hold and just as quickly dropped into the embarrassing feeling of being caught. Which, didn’t make much sense as his friend seemed drunkenly oblivious to the fairly innocent admiration that was happening, but Pat felt a shameful blush creep up his cheeks anyways.

“Oh-uh yeah, I know a good place near here…” He stuttered out, trying to reign in the crackling voice that had emerged from him and piecing together broken thoughts. Pat cleared his throat loudly in hopes to appear casual, but his friend caught on easily. “Ah, sorry to pull you away from the show,” he waggled his eyebrows ridiculously. The teasing act quickly fell when a loud grumble came from his friend’s stomach. “But really, let’s get out of here.”

Pat, overwhelmed by the jumble of emotions lurching in the pit of his stomach, weakly agreed before tossing a reluctant, longing glance back at Songbird, who was elegantly twined around the pole, illuminated by warm lighting. Pat was jolted away from the stage, hand being tugged through the crowd and mind hazily trying to hold onto the image of the dancer.

* * *

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm so grateful for the positive feedback so far. Just to come clean this is my first fic ever, plus it's pretty unedited and rough but I hope yall don't mind. Comments and feedback motivate me so please let me know what you guys think! Lmao also don't call me out for accidentally making the scrunchy such a big role in the plot lol, I'm working with a very loose outline. I'll get the next chapter up soonish, but in the mean time enjoy!

The morning after the night at the strip club, Pat awoke with a throbbing head and a fuzzy recollection of what had happened. Groaning at the sun filtering in to his bedroom, Pat rolled out of bed to feed Charlie, who was indignantly meowing on the other side of the door. After a couple hours of recovering and unsuccessfully trying to piece together a solid picture of Songbird’s face, Pat felt sobered up but frustrated. Pat sighed begrudgingly and went in to the office to get out of his head and get a jump start on a shoot planned for tomorrow.

Usually there wasn’t a lot of people at the office over the weekend, so Pat, too far jaded to care about strangers on the subway, hadn’t even bothered to change. Unfortunately for him, after 20 fleeting minutes of silence, Simone and Allegra strolled in, the former cackling gleefully at some joke. They greeted him amicably, saying they forgot to return some equipment they were using, before stopping slightly. Pat felt his shoulders tense a bit, wondering why they were looking at him like that. _I don’t look that hungover do I? Is there something on my face?_

“Pat! That’s such a good look, I haven’t seen you with hair accessories before!” Simone trilled playfully, with no real intent in her voice beyond pleased approval. Despite the casual nature of the remark, Pat blinked dramatically as it dawned on him. _The scrunchy._ He had forgotten to return it. He restrained himself from letting his hand fly up to pat at the half up ponytail in realization. Pat thanked his ability to keep a pretty stoic face and pushed away his guilt to respond, “Ah, I -uhm, I’m just trying something new.”

Allegra nodded agreeably, seeming to buy his stumbling response as nerves, “Well, I think it works really well for you. C’mon Simone, let’s stop bugging Pat and drop off our stuff.” The two smiled assuredly at him before resuming their banter and walking away. As soon as they rounded the corner, Pat tugged the scrunchy out of his hair and blew the loose strands out of his face as he stuffed it in his office drawer, afraid to touch or look at it too long before his feelings of disappointment arose again.

Months passed by since that weekend, and Pat, mostly successfully, pushed it to the back of his mind. Only a month or so after the strange outing was when Tara announced a few new recruits, one of them being a force of nature named Brian. Pat remembers how it was meeting him for the first time, feeling a sharp tug at his heart when the kid had nervously gushed about admiring Pat’s work and presented him with a million-watt smile. Pat, historically resigned to apathy and just grateful he got to do dumb videos as his job, felt stirrings of pride at such enthusiastic compliments, which never really faded after Brian’s initial star-struckness. It was refreshing to experience this new sense of open affection in a friendship.

Pat also remembers the moments after that first interaction, where he felt an increasing sense of _oh shit_ whenever he felt himself draw closer and closer to the enthralling force that was Brian David Gilbert. Who the hell could blame him though? He noticed the slight but nonetheless tangible shift in the mood of the office with such a lively and earnest new member. So, if Brian was talented and kind and funny enough to worm his way into the hearts of every Polygon employee he met, it was inevitable that he would crack through Pat’s carefully constructed walls.

After getting to know Brian more, he felt admiration at how down to earth he was. It was usually undetectable but Brian seemed to have an embedded maturity to him, a seriousness that tinged Brian's voice when talking about moving from Baltimore and his life before this. It wasn't the kind that invited further prompting for more information on Pat's part, he just got the sense that despite Brian's young age, he had definitely experienced a lot. Pat realizes that not everyone saw this in him at first, the anxious yet upbeat energy Brian kept on lock down ebbed every now and then to reveal just how _clever_ he was. Not just in his entertainment work, Brian was genuinely smart in terms of academia and he had a firm grasp on how the unforgiving world worked.

Pat's let his years of adult life turn him into a cynic, which he could often wield in his approach to comedy as well as any decisions he's had to make in his life recently. It's not cowardice, it's wisdom that comes with seeing what can happen in the world, in this huge and often cruel city. At least that's what Pat tells himself when he has yet another night in, tucked away from everyone with Charlie and a bottle of whiskey. However, Brian was intelligent enough to mask his understanding of reality- forced into him by whatever shitty past experiences that would make Brian's gaze avoid Pat's whenever it came up in conversation- because his earnest demeanor, which never got more bleak than the over-exaggerated rants he'd ham up for Unraveled, is what drew people to him, it's what made him easily likable and people desired to protect and befriend that innocent face. Pat's obviously spent too much time contemplating Brian to have such thorough analysis built up, but it's not like he has much of a social life beyond what is already very intertwined with his work life.

Beyond that observation, their sense of humor synced up perfectly, ever competing to amuse the other with both clever remarks and dumb jokes. It was just addicting to be near such a intense source of life, and Brian was just bursting with it in his self-assured dedication towards Doing The Most. Pat gravitated towards it, like many others, and enjoyed the time he spent with Brian. It didn’t help when Brian looked the way he did, criminally attractive with his soft looking hair, imploring green eyes and a cute mouth. God, the way it set in concentration as Brian worked at one of his passion projects, or the way it curled easily into a grin, or the way it looked when he sang. _Jesus_. Pat really needed to get a grip. There were too many nights where he felt a haze of shameful want flush over him after thinking about his drop-dead coworker.

And of course, with Pat’s luck Brian became his deskmate and soon collaborator on a multitude of streams and videos. Pat didn’t originally intend on letting Brian become his closest friend, but it was something natural, like the the slotting of puzzle pieces together, the way they had progressed when working together. The audience loved their duo and their styles of content matched up well. Soon enough his time with Brian seeped more and more into his personal time. It wasn’t uncommon for them to hang out outside of work, for Brian to drape himself so comfortably on Pat’s couch and mumble some song as he watched Pat try and fail to focus on whatever game they had put on late in the night.

The amount of internal conflict Pat felt in those sweet, slow moments, like molasses on his tongue, was ridiculous. He could feel wariness and doubt fight at his throat to control his emotions instead of the ever budding desire for more. More, more, more, to hold Brian’s ever-moving limbs and kiss him into quiet calmness, to pin down that lithely muscled body and make him sing in a way Pat hasn’t heard, to be romantic and _good_ for someone in a way Pat has never felt so desperately to do so before.

Feelings that threatened to spill catastrophically out of Pat aside, they had a great friendship and professional partnership, and Pat never wanted to threaten the gift fate had dropped into his lap. So, when Brian and he were staying late at the office to finish writing something they were working together on, he’d be sure to force his gaze from straying to Brian for too long. He'd been doing pretty well for the most part, but Pat felt ridiculously unproductive because any time not looking at or talking to Brian was spent thinking about him. Pat was really getting too old to be experiencing such an all-encompassing school boy crush yet here he was.

After a stretch of comfortable silence, Brian huffed and pushed his hair out of his eyes, which Pat definitely was not achingly aware of how long it was getting-his curls were cropped a bit shorter when they first met- and definitely not wanting to run his fingers through it. Brian, focus not straying from the computer, said “I really need to cut my hair soon, this is just getting annoying. I gotta tie this up with something…” Brian glanced over at Pat through his glasses, catching Pat distractedly staring at Brian’s waves of hair. If he noticed, Brian didn’t mention it, just stood with much fanfare, stretching and being unnecessarily loud in the action, and then shuffled some of the stuff on their desk around in search of a hair tie or rubber band of some sort.

Pat, tearing his gaze away to pretend to focus on editing their script, didn’t even register Brian pawing through his desk drawer. They had grown comfortable with each other and while Pat tried not to acknowledge the significance behind it, he had pretty much loosened all boundaries on his personal possessions for Brian. “Aha!” came Brian’s sound of triumph, which was then followed with a thoughtful “Huh.” that seemed to be more to himself. He was much too quiet than how he was before- honestly he did not need to kick his rolling chair halfway across the room, that is in no way helpful to stretching- so Pat looked over.

In Brian’s hands was the red velvet scrunchy. Pat, who was still mentally berating himself in after being caught staring, originally dismissed the perplexed noise as confusion over why Pat would have something so effeminate. Pat felt a flash of surprise as he had forgotten it was in there and, momentarily, where it came from, but just hoped that Brian would just take it and not ask where it had come from. Brian’s face was contorted in a series of different but all equally unreadable expressions. Pat tried nonetheless to figure out what Brian was thinking, but before his panic could take over and spout some joke about trying “young folk fashion trends”, Brian had reigned his expression back into triumph at finding what he was looking for.

The blonde simply reached to tie his hair back, “Looks like someone has good taste”. He then gave Pat an overwhelmingly charming smirk, almost too much so to be natural after the weird rollercoaster Brian’s face had just experienced. Pat tried to laugh it off casually, forcing himself to resume working on their script and mulling over Brian’s unexplained reaction in his head. Of course, he was distracted when Brian went to sit in his no-longer-there desk chair and fell flat on his ass. Pat nearly did too from laughing so hard.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on my tumblr, @itsachaliceforyourthoughts, where I post polygon, BDG and patbrian stuff :)


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